


Comfort in Grief

by blustersquall



Series: Fenris x Kestrel Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hawke Estate, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blustersquall/pseuds/blustersquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot. After the murder of her mother, Fenris tries to comfort Hawke despite their unresolved feelings for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort in Grief

Varric had thought a night out at the Hanged Man, surrounded by friends and good company was a good idea. A nice, easy way to get Hawke back out into Kirkwall and put an end to her self imposed hermit existence.  
  
She had not left the estate for weeks. Varric had visited several times, as had Aveline, Merrill and Isabella. Anders and Sebastian too, had gone to check on their friend. Only Fenris had avoided her. He had avoided the estate entirely since the battle with Quentin and Leandra's funeral.  
  
After the death - well, no point tip-toeing around it - the murder of Leandra they had held a small service. She had been burnt on a pyre. Sebastian had led the Chant of Light and afterwards they, including Gamlen, had returned to the Hanged Man to drink to Leandra's memory.  
  
Only Hawke had slipped away in their journey from the pyre to the tavern, discreetly and silently to grieve.  
  
Varric did not want to rush her, he knew only too well the sting of loss, and how it was not something easily forgotten or quickly recovered from. His intention had been only to get her out in the open for a while, for her own good, and miraculously, his tactic had worked. He had coaxed her out of the Amell estate after she had bathed and dressed in clean clothes. Her slow pace, her uncertainty with every step was something he took in his stride, as he did many things. All he wanted was to help Hawke, and he knew patience was key.  
  
The regular bustle of the tavern seemed to lift Hawke's mood. Even when patrons approached her to pay their respects to her mother. With each person, she smiled politely, if sadly and exchanged a few words. She watched Isabella, Merrill and Anders play several rounds of Wicked Grace and nursed a pint of ale slowly.  
  
Then Gamlen had turned up. Stinking drunk, swaying and slurring, leering at Hawke sick with grief and anguish.  
  
"It's your fault." Gamlen had told her, spitting his words and pointing uneasily at where Hawke stood. "If it wasn't for you she would still be alive. You should have protected her! What good are you if you can't protect people you love?"  
  
Several patrons had gathered around Gamlen at this point and were ushering him out slowly, not wanting to cause harm to a man sick with grief. "They're all gone. All because you failed to protect them!" Gamlen's last words hung in the frigid air of the tavern even after he had been removed.  
  
They remained hovering, ringing in Hawke's skull even as conversation and games continued as if Gamlen's interruption hadn't occurred.  
  
Despite the outburst, Hawke looked calm and collected, detached from everything and everyone. She had breathed through her nose a long breath and closed her eyes before opening them, taking up Varric's new, untouched tankard of ale, and taking a deep drink from it.  
  
As time had worn on, Hawke had been plied with more and more alcohol, until she was in the sorry state found herself in now.  
  
Leaning back in a chair, balancing it on its back legs, her own legs perched on the table cackling at a crack in the ceiling beams that looked like nothing to anyone else, but to Hawke had reminded her of a story of when she had witnessed two horses mating as a child.  
  
"Someone should take her home." Sebastian said wisely, standing beside Varric watching Hawke. "This isn't right for her."  
  
"It was a nice idea Varric." Merrill remarked sincerely. "Such a shame that Gamlen had to come and ruin it all."  
  
"Yeah." Varric agreed. "I guess he's not handling everything so well either."  
  
Aveline sighed and crossed her arms. "She lost so much. I can't imagine how she gets through each day."  
  
"She has no other choice." Fenris told Aveline, his voice low and it seemed, simmering with anger. "I am going to take her home." He announced.  
  
Hawke continued to laugh, leaning further and further back in her chair to drain her tankard of the final drops of liquid. She hummed into the empty container, laughing more at how her voice echoed back.  
  
"I'll take her." Anders objected, rising from his seat as Fenris approached. "She'll be safer with me." He knew what had occurred between Hawke and Fenris. He knew how Fenris had left her, a coward and how badly it had hurt Hawke. The two of them had barely exchanged words and looks since then. Anders was wary of Fenris' intentions towards their mutual companion.  
  
Fenris glared from beneath his dark eyebrows. "You will not touch her, mage." He snarled, the corners of his lips curling back. "I would not trust you with her in such a vulnerable state."  
  
Anders released a bark of laughter, "because you've proven yourself to be so noble and caring towards her."  
  
The elf did not give a vocal response, only his nostrils flared as they did when he was angered, and he turned his focus to Hawke.  
  
Hawke inquired as to what was happening as Fenris hoisted her up onto her feet and hooked an arm around her waist. Isabella took the empty tankard from Hawke's hand and Aveline came to Fenris's aid when it appeared Hawke had forgotten not just how to walk in a straight line, but how to walk and stand entirely.  
  
The pair bid good night to Varric and the others and then disappeared into the cool night air.

* * *

  
  
The walk to Hightown and the Hawke estate was painfully long. Hawke kept stopping and starting, lurching forward or leaning back as Fenris and Aveline struggled to hold her upright. Despite her small stature, she was surprisingly strong and the where her centre of gravity kept changing meant Aveline and Fenris were both at risk of stumbling.  
  
Hawke sang loudly and out of tune, ditties from Ferelden that caused people to either join in or to shout profanities from their windows in an attempt to make her stop. Which only resulted in insults and drunken threats being slung back and forth between Hawke and whomever it was that didn't like her singing.  
  
When they reached the Amell estate, Bodahn was quick to ease Hawke inside with Sandal's help.  
  
"Thank you." Fenris said, speaking to Aveline though his green eyes remained firmly fixed on Hawke's weaving body as the two dwarves tried to guide her across the reception room to the stairs.  
  
"Are you going home?" Aveline inquired, though she already knew that the answer would be 'no'. It didn't matter what Fenris or Hawke had said, or how they avoided one another's gazes, what had happened between them had been important. It had changed them both, in ways that it seemed everyone except Fenris and Hawke could see.  
  
"No." The elf replied, "I want to make sure she is alright."  
  
Nodding, Aveline spoke. "Alright then. Look after her." She gave Fenris what she hoped was a hard stare. One meant to tell him that all he had better do was make sure she got to bed alright. Things for Hawke were already too confusing and painful, without throwing in more complications with their unresolved feelings. "Goodnight, Fenris."  
  
As Aveline left, Fenris strode into the house and let the large front door slam.  
Bodahn and Sandal had only managed to follow Hawke towards the stairs that led down to the kitchen. They weren't guiding her only following her.. She needed a strong hand, someone to put her to bed and make sure she remained there for her own good.  
  
"Bodahn, water. In Hawke's room." Fenris said, bypassing the dwarf with cat-like swiftness and silence. He scooped his arms up around Hawke, supporting her legs in one arm and her back in the other. She wriggled and squirmed, flailing her arms and trying to push him away in protest, but in her inebriated state she couldn't summon the strength.

  
Her wriggling and complaints made carrying her up the stairs tricky, twice Fenris almost lost his balance and was forced to right himself to save them both from toppling backwards down to the lower floor.  
  
"Lemme go--" Hawke complained as Fenris eased her down to the ground. The fire in her bedroom had been lit filling it with a warm, orange glow. Bodahn had opened the windows and the herbs below in the garden filled the room with the scents of lemongrass and thyme. The dwarf arrived with a pitcher of water and two tankards a few moments later as Hawke lay across her bed kicking her legs up into the air and singing another rousing Fereldan tune.  
  
Fenris poured water into one of the tankards and held it out to the dark haired woman before him. "Drink this."  
  
"No."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Drink it. You'll feel better."  
  
"I don't want to feel..." she trailed. Her legs went still. He saw her eyes open, staring at the canopy of her bed. "I don't want to feel." She lay her left arm across her eyes and sighed deeply. Coming home, lying on her bed seemed to have sobered her. Perhaps it had been the night air too which had caused it. "Go away, Fenris."  
  
He should have. He knew that. He should have left the water and gone back to where he made his home. He should go and sleep, forget the whole night.  
  
But he didn't. He couldn't.  
  
Everything between them was confusing. Hawke had awakened in him feelings he didn't think possible. A sense of wanting to protect her, and keep her safe from the horrors of the world. He had failed in so much of that already. He hadn't been able to help her save her mother. He had run away from the feelings he felt, but that didn't mean he didn't care.  
  
He did. More than he wanted to admit to himself or to anyone. Hawke wasn't just a person, a companion or a friend to him. She was a beacon. A brightness in his dark, grey world. He couldn't leave her like this, dealing with her grief alone in a big house. Shutting herself off from the world, from everyone she knew.  
  
"No." He said finally.  
  
"It wasn't a request." Hawke remarked, slightly muffled by the sleeves of her robe.

  
Fenris quirked an eyebrow, "I do not take orders."  
  
He moved from the table where the pitcher of water sat to her bed, carrying the full tankard, his movements were silent and stealthy, a way he had been trained to move by Danarius so that he didn't disturb any of the Magisters' guests back when he had been enslaved.  
  
Taking Hawke's right hand in his own, he pulled up into a sitting position before him. Her left arm dropped to her side, dark black hair loose from its usual binds fluttered across her face. Her saw her hazel eyes down cast, her chin trembling as she took breaths, deep and long through her nose. Trying to force whatever she felt back down. Her body shook under the heavy mage robes she wore, and it wasn't from the cold.  
  
Fenris sighed a little, squatting to be in front of her. He placed the water to one side, looking up at her through his white hair. "Hawke..."  
  
"Fenris," Hawke murmured, glancing at him. He saw tears in her eyes, spilling over and down her cheeks. "Please."  
  
He didn't know what possessed him, it was an action that was too tender, too kind. A trait of a lover, more than a companion, but he rose his hands to cup her face, wiping the spilling tears away with the pads of his thumbs.  
  
Words, sentimental words, were difficult for him. Hawke knew that, he could convey far more with his actions than with his words and he was often left without any that seemed appropriate when it came to Hawke. He was not trained in how to help someone dealing with grief. He could not help her through it as maybe Aveline could, or even Anders. All he could do was wipe her tears away, and try to make things better with the few soft and kind words he had.  
  
"It's alright," he told her. He was willing to bet he was the only person to see her cry since her mother's death. Despite how the other members of their rag-tag group had gone to visit her, Hawke would never have allowed herself to be vulnerable with them.  
  
He watched her, she clenched her eyes shut and shook her head, dislodging his hands from around her jaw.  
  
Her mouth crushed his, insistent and desperate, her fingers holding his jaw as she angled her head. It wasn't smooth, Fenris felt her lips trembling against his. He could taste salt from her tears, and smell the scent of the Hanged Man on her hair and clothes.  
  
It had been so long since he had kissed her, so long since the sensation had been his. He had recalled the feel of them so many times since that night. The way her fingers felt, the sound of her breathing, her smell. It was all he could do not to respond, not to slide his mouth across hers and try to distract her from the pain she felt, if only for a few moments.  
  
He couldn't allow this. Just the mere brush of her lips upon his had brought back those memories of that night. His cowardice, how he had left her because of his own fears and the memories being with her brought up.  
  
And this wasn't fuelled by want for him. She was acting out of grief. Trying to ignite some kind of spark in herself. An attempt to feel something aside from the abyss of loss.  
"Hawke," Fenris pulled away, a line of saliva hanging between them as he did so. "We can't--"  
  
"Fenris, don't. Please," she pursued him. Her voice frantic and almost begging. Her hands and fingers gripping the fabric collar of his armour. "Please, just kiss me."  
  
Just that sound, that pleading in her voice, the way each time she kissed him it was less a kiss and more an act of misery, it made him to want stay. Want to allow her this moment of selfish impulsiveness.  
  
To use him.  
  
"Kestrel."  
  
He didn't. He couldn't. It would end badly for them both. Feelings already raw and naked would become more so, it was something he could not allow.  
  
Would _not_ allow.  
  
To the sound of her first name, Hawke stopped and she stared at him. Fenris' hands on her shoulders holding her steady, the severity of his gaze, and how his mouth was drawn into a straight line.  
  
Slowly, she relinquished his collar, almost unwillingly as if it was the last scrap of sense she held onto. She dropped her head into her hands, covering her face and she released a cry that seemed to tear through her entire body, ripped from the very depths of her soul.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be-"  
  
She sobbed, "Gamlen was right... it is all my fault."  
  
"No."  
  
"I should have protected her. Should have been more aware. I was so caught up in Kirkwall, in the Mages and the Templars, I ignored her." There was nothing Fenris could say, so he didn't speak. He lay his hands on the fabric of her robes that covered her knees and did the only thing he could, he listened.  
  
"I've lost... everyone." Hawke heaved, her breathing was erratic and Fenris kept his even in the hopes that it would influence her to find a better rhythm. "Everyone I loved is lost. My father, Bethany, then Carver, now my mother." Her whole body trembled with every breath she forced into her lungs. Her skin was damp on her face with sweat and tears. "It was my job to protect them, and I failed. I failed everyone - now there's no one left."  
  
"That isn't true."  
  
"Isn't it?" She dropped her hands into her lap, "everyone I love leaves me. You did."  
  
That stung, Fenris felt the sharp shock of shame and guilt rock through him from his very core. He tried not to take her words personally. He couldn't think of how she must have felt when he left her after than night. How foolish or alone she must have felt. He had been so focused on himself.  
  
"I'm still here, Kestrel." Was all he could say, knowing it wasn't entirely accurate, at least not in the way that Hawke meant.  
  
She lowered her hands, her mouth drawn downwards, and her eyebrows furrowed. "It's not the same." she looked at him through bloodshot eyes. "What good am I if I can't protect the people I love. I came to Kirkwall with my brother and my mother and now I'm alone."  
  
He couldn't stand it, to see her tremble and shake, to see her so vulnerable with raw, naked emotions etched on her face. To hear her speaking to poorly about herself. To hear the hate she not felt for herself in her voice.  
  
If she only knew what she had done. What goodness she brought to him... but she didn't. And there was no way he could tell her.  
  
Hawke spoke again, "I'm so... tired." She gave a small, weak smile. "Tired of feeling like this. I feel as though I'm standing on the edge of a blade and if I fall, I will tumble into a never ending oblivion." She pushed her hands through her hair, breathing out deeply, "I'm tired of feeling nothing but this dull ache in my chest. Of this emptiness in my heart, this hole I can feel that used to be where my family were. I want them back, Fenris." Hawke pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, "I miss them. Every day it hurts. It hurts to breathe, to move, to think. I don't want to feel anymore." Her arms closed around her a barrier of protection and a way to hold herself together.  
  
Fenris sat beside her, ignoring all his better common senses, he wrapped one arm around her shoulder and perched his head on top of hers when she leaned her head on his shoulder. It was an intimate gesture, too intimate perhaps, but be wanted to feel like he was doing something right. That this wasn't hurting her, that he was protecting her, at least a little bit, from the pain.  
  
"I can't take your grief away," Fenris murmured, his lips pressed against the mess of black hair. He clenched his eyes shut, her body shook as she breathed. "And I can't make you believe it wasn't your fault, all I can say is that I believe it wasn't your fault."  
  
"A madman took your mother, that was not your doing. And the Blight, the Darkspawn, took Carver and your sister from you," he spoke slowly, thinking each word as it came. "Sebastian would say the Maker had a plan for you, and that the deaths of your family were necessary to that plan, and I don't know if that is true; I know it won't ease your pain, but you can't think that their deaths were your fault."  
  
Hawke sniffled, "I was so focused on Kirkwall... my mother-"  
  
"Was a brilliant, kind, independent woman. Not a consolation, I know, but you are not the one responsible for her death." He leaned back, and took Hawke's face in his hands, "I can't make things right, and I cannot change what has happened, all I can do is promise to help you through it, if you will let me."  
  
He should not have looked at her as he did then. He should not have held her face so gently within his hands. He knew his error even as they looked at other. The orange glow of the fire shining off her dark hair, even with tear tracks on her cheeks and bloodshot eyes, even with her hair a mess and as her lips trembled and she struggled to breathe. She was beautiful, glorious. A creature, a woman, who had been  strong for so long finally letting herself have a moment of vulnerability and he was the one to whom she had chosen to bare herself.  
  
He did not deserve it.  
  
He did not deserve the feelings she spent on him, nor the kindness.  
  
He was not deserving of her.  
  
He had stopped her before when she had kissed him, and now he ignored even his own advice as he settled his mouth over hers, catching her lower lip between his own. He felt her mouth tremble, her fingers shaking as they clutched to his shoulders.  
  
The salt of her tears was still the first thing he tasted, the only thing as his tongue traced across her lower lip, careless and impulsive. He wanted to have her again. He needed to have her.  
  
To have this.  
  
He had that selfish desire, he knew the pain it would cause him, and how everything about this was wrong. That if anything, now was when he should leave. Rubbing salt in already open wounds would only make things worse.  
  
But he was gone. His mind a fog of want and hunger, of lust and need. Need for her. Need to hold her. Touch her. Taste her. Feel her. _Have_ her. To possess her utterly and distract her mind from the grief and anguish if only for a little while.  
  
Fenris arced his head, he clenched one hand into Hawke's hair, tugging gently, forcing her to angle her head and relinquish to him.  
  
He felt her fingers, unbuckling the fastenings on his gauntlets blindly.  
  
Her kisses were frenzied and hungry and fearsome; she bit gently on his tongue, on his own lips. One gauntlet fell to the floor, that bare hand hooked around Hawke's back. He pulled her with him as he swivelled and brought his legs up onto her bed. Both kneeling, closing gaps between them, limbs entwined. Need fuelling them both.  
  
He felt for the clasps on the back of her robe and each one came away easily. He shook his right arm, his second gauntlet landed on the sheets and Hawke's hands were at his back, unbuckling the fastenings that kept his armour together. She knew them, they were loose in moments and the top of his armour slackened around him.  
  
She pulled it off, down his arms and it went to one side somewhere, thrown blindly and without care.  
  
Her hands were upon him, hot and wandering and he had missed her touch. The glide of her fingers down his spine, across his chest, her fingernails lightly scratching. His markings shone, the pain was bearable and even it when it became too much he would endure it.  
  
He would endure anything for her.  
  
"Fenris," Hawke's voice was just a murmur in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He dragged his mouth from hers, biting down on her bare shoulder now he had successfully worked the sleeves of the heavy robe down her arms. She hissed a little, pressing her nails into his back.  
  
The fabric of the robe hung over the leather and boned corset. Her chest heaved. He worked a trail of burning kisses down, down her neck, over her collar bone. He left the removing of garments for a moment, filling his hands with her breasts and wounding the flesh with his teeth and urgent kisses.  
  
He could feel himself pressed uncomfortably against his leather britches, heat pulsating and crying for release. He ignored his wanting; this was for her. To make her feel something other than pain.  
  
His mouth returned to hers a clash of mouths, clacking of teeth, the smacking of lips and they drew short breaths when they could. Hawke's hands in his hair, pulling him impossibly close.  
  
He was drowning in her. Flying and falling all at the same time.  
  
He could smell her skin,  no longer obscured by the scent of the Hanged Man. He had thought he had imprinted all these delicate things about Hawke in his mind, taken them with him when he had left before. Replaying those moments, her touches, her sighs in his mind was so far from reality.  
  
His hands at her hips, he began to pull up the heavy robes, up from under her knees and above until he was able to reach beneath them.  
  
He brushed her inner thigh with his finger tips and heard a sharp intake of breath. As he drew his lips down, brushing her jaw and down to her neck, his hand rose upwards beneath the skirts of her robe, seeking the heat of her core.  
  
"Fenris," Hawke's hand grasped his wrist and he looked at her. Her expression was no longer one of passion, her brows were furrowed, her eyes clear, no longer misty and half-hooded by desire and need. "What are we doing?" He saw a small, sad smile spread her lips and she leaned forward, her forehead on his bare shoulder. "This is wrong."  
  
"Kestrel?"  
  
"We can't do this." Said Hawke softly, " _I_ can't do this." She corrected.  
  
She was right, he knew. He had known since he had kissed her, that this would only make things more complicated, but he had ignored that sensible voice, paid it no mind. He had just wanted to make her happy, to please her, to give distraction.  
  
"It's too confusing. There's too much..." Murmured Hawke, against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No," Fenris arched backwards, forcing Hawke to bring her head up. He cupped her face in one hand. Her saw her lips, reddened and kiss swollen, the colour on her cheeks and the heat against his skin. "I should be sorry. This was... I wanted to..." he let out a long sigh, turning his eyes downcast.  
  
"It's alright," Hawke lay her temple against his, though like him, her eyes remained downward and she spoke to the sheets, "I understand."  
  
Fenris traced Hawke's cheek bone, her nose and the curve of her brow with his thumb. Tracing the pattern of her lips, he did kiss her once more, brief and gentle.

He left her, after recovering his armour and gauntlets.  
  
All he could think was what a fool he was.  
  
What a fool he had been for leaving the first time. How he should have opened up to her, spoken about his fears and what he had recalled. Then he could have remained, comforted her in whatever way she needed in this time of grief.  
  
Instead he had left her, cowardly and frightened of not only what he had remember when he was with her, but also of what she unleashed in him.  
  
Perhaps one day they would be able to move on from the memories of that night. How he had left, and it had hurt them both. Perhaps one day, they would be able to find comfort in the arms of one another, and Fenris could let his guard down completely and Hawke could relinquish her fears and worries to him.  
  
For now, he knew, all he could do was be there to help with each day as it came.


End file.
